


Drive

by TheBlackBirdEyelinerKing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bartender Marlene McKinnon, Bartender Remus Lupin, M/M, Modern Marauders (Harry Potter), Musical Instruments, Musician Sirius Black, Poetry, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26957314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackBirdEyelinerKing/pseuds/TheBlackBirdEyelinerKing
Summary: Let the time tick,and the names be names,while the names get written down on gravestones.We all fill ourselves with a promise.May I look once more,at the lines of time,in the folds timecarved in your surface.May I look once more, at the green grass landsthat are now paved grey for driving.Kiss me. Turn my lips cherry. And send me away.I will take my pain and drive.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	Drive

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this piece of poetry and after that I kind of fell into this strange writing rhythm. It's crazy. It started writing itself. I know the word-count isn't much, but just see it like one big fucking poem. I hope it reads as it writes. Try to see if you find the same rhythm as I did, btw. Idk I thought I should just post it. Nothing to lose, am I right?

# Drive

Let the time tick,  
and the names be names,  
while the names get written down on gravestones.  
We all fill ourselves with a promise.  
May I look once more,  
at the lines of time,  
in the folds time  
carved in your surface.  
May I look once more, at the green grass lands  
that are now paved grey for driving.

Kiss me. Turn my lips cherry. And send me away.  
I will take my pain and drive.

-

A beam of light shone through the crack between the curtains. It shifted as time went by, and by the time it was five and the light was getting warmer, it finally hit Remus’ eye. He opened it, grunted and rolled to the other side of his bed in an attempt to hide from the fact that he slept all day. He knew it wasn’t healthy. He knew it meant missing yet another day of lectures. Maybe he was too depressed to care, or maybe he was too clever to feel the need to study. He wasn’t like he used to be. He was anything but like he used to be. He used to be a responsible, kind, hard-working young Welsh boy. Now he was a bartender studying English and flunking every class to get an extra hour of sleep in. How times could change.

He brought his huge, callused hands up to his face and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had to get up, maybe eat something, go to work, make money. He couldn’t lose his job.

He threw the covers from his body and shivered once the icy air hit his skin. Goosebumps formed on his arms and legs, and he almost ran to the bathroom to turn on the hot water. He let the water be the only thing to embrace him save for his covers. He was leading a sorrowful life. He washed his golden curls, his young body, but stood under the stream of hot water for what felt like hours afterwards. Finally, he decided he had wasted enough, and wrapped a towel around his slender body. Perhaps today would be a good day. He hoped it would.  
Once his body was clean, he hid his face in his wet towel. He stood like that for a good minute, stark naked in a damp bathroom with a towel to his face, to hide the pain you could read on it. Remus didn’t look in the mirror, or not really at least. He only looked at it to do his hair, and check if his clothing wasn’t ripped. He never looked himself in the eye, though. That would be confronting. It would be, wouldn’t it?

So he went to work for yet another day. He didn’t even eat. He’d fill up on peanuts, and scraps from their dirty ass fry kitchen, where all they served was grease. Grease upon grease upon grease, yet he didn’t gain a gram. It might have to do with the fact that he basically slept all day, or that all that his own kitchen contained was a coffee machine. He didn’t need much, he let himself believe. He didn’t need much to breathe.

He tugged on his t-shirt and rubbed his eyes. This was his favourite part of the day. No customers, just us: him and Marlene, cleaning the tables and whistling songs. Sometimes, he’d pick up a guitar and he’d play for a while. He didn’t ever play for an audience, though, no. No. No one would want to hear _him_.

He set down his guitar after a couple of songs and stared at the floor of the podium. Filthy, it was stained and more mud than wood at that point. Not that he cared.

“Hey there.”

“Hello.”

“That sounded damn good.”

“Thanks man, but there is no need to be kind,” he said. He walked down the couple of stairs, and sized the man up. Black hair, blue eyes. Too pretty to be inside ‘Jack’s’. Perhaps he was lost, might need some directions. “So, what’s up?”

“We’re supposed to play here tonight.”

“For real?”

“Sure thing.”

“So, what can I do? Can I fetch you a drink?”

“You can, but no need for politeness,” he said. “I’m Sirius Black, the drummer, you know? The band’s called Marauders. Your boss booked us, I think. Thing is, our singer has left us. So, we can’t perform. I came here to cancel. So sorry, my bro.”

“Fuck. You cancel the night of the gig? That’s ruthless. Goddamnit. Now we don’t have a show.” He swore, turned away, from the pretty prince of a man, and hollered, “Marlene! We got a problem!”

“What?! You finally died?” She came through the door that led to the kitchen of greases, and stopped grinning once she saw the two. “What’s up? What’s with the long faces?”

“We gotta cancel,” Sirius said. “We’re the gig for tonight.”

“Ah fuck. You’re kidding? Oh fuck me. I’m dead.” She hit the bar hard and hid her face from them. She wasn’t too pleased. “You gotta play.”

“I’m sorry, we can’t! Our singer walked out.”

“Then find a replacement,” she said. “You goddamn gotta play tonight.”

“We can’t find a singer that knows every song! It’s an impossible task. I’m sorry, we can’t.”

“Well, I need a drink.”

Remus stood still, staring at nothing. There was nothing to do. They’d have angry customers tonight. Perhaps today would be a bad day. Tomorrow could be the day that he wouldn’t want to off himself per sé.

“Hey?” the pretty prince called Sirius sang. He lay his hand on Remus’ shoulder and tugged to make him turn around. “You can play.”

Remus scoffed. He shook his head and frowned. “Please, that’s not playing. That’s a pathetic attempt at a song.”

“Can you sing?”

“No.”

“Yes, you can,” Marlene said. “I heard you, when you clean. You can sing, Lupin. You know the songs?”

“ _No.”_

“Can you learn them?”

“Of course I can,” Remus laughed. “I’m not in Uni for nothing. I’m a English mayor. I’m made for that stuff. You just gotta get it, and let the brain do the rest.”

“So, you’ll do it?”

“No!” Remus repeated. “No, I won’t. Leave me alone, yeah? I’m not fit for the role.”

“You might need a haircut, and a stylist, perhaps,” the other man said. “Let me hear your voice, man. You got nothing to lose.”

No, he didn’t. He really didn’t. He took a deep breath, grunted, and walked to the stage where he sat on the stool and started playing the strings. He closed his eyes, imagined a safe place, where no one could see him, where nothing could feel. Maybe for three minutes he could. So, he sang.

“I  
I reach for the curtains  
I reach for the curtains to trap me inside.  
You trap me inside.  
You keep me from blinding  
Keep me from rising  
up to the sky.

I  
I keep them from coming  
I keep them from coming to get me to stay.  
They keep me from dying  
They keep me from rising  
up to the sky.

So why?  
Why are you running?  
Why are you running behind?

Why?  
Why are you claiming?  
That you’d rather find

Me  
Me in the corner?  
Me on the floor, a puddle of pain?  
Me  
Me as a waiter, to wait for the train?

So why?  
Why are you running?  
Why are you running behind?

Why?  
Why are you faking?  
You’d rather be blind. ”

**Author's Note:**

> So that was that! Lemme know what you thought, and if you'd like me to continue this, maybe make it into a short or long story! Let's see. Do tell me if you like this style, as well. I'm not sure I could keep it up for 100 000 words, but for 1000 it was surprisingly nice to write.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
